


Plowing Fertile Fields

by badwolfbadwolf



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Sex, Bottom!Jaskier, Breeding Kink, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Flowers, Humor, Kink Discovery, Knotting, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, No actual mpreg, Overstimulation, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Rimming, Sex Pollen, Top!Geralt, Undernegotiated Kink, flowers in hair, it's so sweet too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23859658
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolfbadwolf/pseuds/badwolfbadwolf
Summary: A sterile Geralt tries his best to breed Jaskier after drinking some laced ale.  Boy tries hard.“It’s not like you want to knock me up.”The way Geralt says nothing but just looks at Jaskier with a sudden, fierce intensity makes him heat up even more than whatever is in the ale.“I suppose I wouldn’t mind the… attempt,” Jaskier squeaks out and the deep rumble that emanates from Geralt’s chest goes straight to Jaskier’s cock.  Jaskier takes another large sip and feels it burn all the way down, signaling the serving girl to fill up their cups.  “Two did you say?”“Two’s enough,” she says with a wink.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 92
Kudos: 1750
Collections: Good Relationship Etiquette (familial included) - or Good BDSM Etiquette - or Good Relationship and BDSM Etiquette





	Plowing Fertile Fields

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to the lovely ssleif for beta-ing! You're awesome! They also made me a [super cool picspam](https://do-what-the-knight-tells-you.tumblr.com/post/616573612310364160/a-picspam-for-plowing-fertile-fields-by) for this fic, check it out!
> 
> I tagged this mildly dubious consent but it really is pretty consent heavy considering how most sex pollen fics go.

“A flower for your flower?” a girl with a basket says as she waves a pastel-colored bouquet near Geralt’s face.

“Does she mean you?” Geralt says gruffly to Jaskier, frowning as Jaskier digs a coin from his pocket and hands it to the girl. She beams at him and hands him a stem, Jaskier taking it with an answering smile. The flower's a light shade of purple with long petals and smells lovely, like the lush fields in late spring just outside of Lettenhove.

“You’re so romantic, Geralt,” Jaskier says dreamily, fixing the flower behind Geralt’s ear and nodding at the girl as he leads Geralt away before he can traumatize her. It’s no small miracle that Geralt keeps it there, and even more thrilling when he lets Jaskier hook his arm through his elbow as they walk. “Look, it's a festival!”

He’s sure Geralt will hate it, but he pulls him along anyways, drawn to the sound of music in the town’s main square. There’s a small group of musicians playing merrily, and it makes Jaskier vibrate with excitement as they draw further into the throng, though Geralt keeps them to the outskirts of it.

“We don’t have to stay long,” Jaskier promises, but he does slide his hand down to Geralt’s, and Geralt lets their palms rest together, making Jaskier's heart light.

“A sweet for your sweet?” a man calls from the nearest booth and Jaskier ignores Geralt’s eye roll as he drops another coin on the table and takes a sweet cake with a smile.

“Good gods,” Geralt gruffs as Jaskier takes a bite and then tries to hold it up to Geralt’s lips but he waves him off.

Jaskier eats the rest of it, humming along with the tune and lighting up as they get close enough to see the musicians on a makeshift stage. There’s more people and booths, the air festive, and banners flapping in the light wind, embroidered with a variety of flowers, just like the one in Geralt’s hair.

“It looks like a summer solstice festival. Look, there’s dancing!”

Geralt looks murderous as Jaskier leads him by the hand over to where there’s a dancing mass of people holding ribbons, but Jaskier truly isn’t that mean, and he veers off before they get there. It’s just fun to rile Geralt up, get his feathers ruffled. Plus it typically leads to fantastic sex later.

The town's tavern has tables set up outside for the occasion, long benches filled with boisterous patrons and Jaskier sits down on the end of one, mindful to let Geralt sit with his back to a wall, the table between them.

A burly serving girl sets down two ales in front of them with a hearty smack, her grin toothy. “First one’s on the house, courtesy of the festivities. Don’t drink more than two if you don’t want to be on your back the _entire_ night, mind you.”

“Hmmm,” Geralt says with a frown, which is his normal expression.

“Oddly personal thing to say,” Jaskier says, perplexed. The ale tastes good, refreshing and flavored with oak and honey, and there is another purple bloom floating in it as a decoration. He fishes it out, putting it behind Geralt’s other ear and smiling at his beautiful face. He's frowning, sure, but the flowers look nice. Softens him up a bit.

“I like you,” Jaskier says.

“What is there, truth serum in this?” Geralt grumbles.

“Oh hush, I say that all the time. You like me, too.”

Geralt raises an eyebrow but he doesn't remove the flower. He takes a sip, too.

It’s hot out, still midday with the sun pounding down on them without the cover of any clouds, baking them like bread as they sit. Jaskier takes another sip, feeling a little warmer under the collar.

“Why didn’t I get a flower?” he pouts into his cup, thrilling when he feels Geralt’s fingers behind his ear as he places his own yellow bloom there. It’s wet from the ale, fragrant with hops and pollen, and Jaskier feels the blush of heat creep up his neck.

“Hot in here, isn’t it?”

“We’re outside, Jaskier. And it’s summer.”

“Still, I knew I should’ve gone for that breathable fabric. Brocade is so dense. We really need to find you some new contracts because proper clothing is _quite_ expensive, darling.”

Geralt suddenly seems to snap to attention, his expression tight as his eyes dart around. “What type of festival do you think this is, exactly?”

Jaskier turns to the side, watching the people dance nearby and the couple next to them… passionately liplocked, their hands in inappropriate places and getting more and more scandalous by the second.

“Oh, erm, well perhaps it’s one of enjoyment and, um, prosperity?”

“Fertility!,” the woman next to them bellows as her gentleman friend pulls her onto his lap with a flourish. Jaskier’s eyes widen and he looks back at Geralt quickly.

"Fertility." Geralt does not sound amused.

“I mean I know I can go for a lot, but that seems positively _indecent._ ” Jaskier gawks, scandalized as he looks down the bench of people in various states of debauchery. They’re all still clothed, thank goodness, but it’s more than the sun making him hot under the collar now.

Jaskier glances down at his drink, eyeing it and giving it a long sniff. It smells normal enough, likely just the differences in local variety as they travel across the Continent. “Well, we’ve a free afternoon and you haven’t fucked me yet today. Could be fun.” Jaskier waggles his eyebrows at Geralt and takes another sip.

Geralt eyes him but remains silent, gripping his cup and a fine sweat beading his brow.

“This won’t do anything for us, right?” Jaskier continues, like Geralt is actually having a conversation with him rather than Jaskier just talking at him. “I mean, what's the harm in some vigorous, magically-assisted coupling? We are both men. And besides, you’re sterile.”

Geralt looks wounded.

“And lovely. So beautiful. I love you.”

Geralt grumps, and Jaskier loves these one-way conversations because he can just speak for Geralt and make him say whatever he wants.

“It’s not like you want to knock me up.”

The way Geralt says nothing but just looks at Jaskier with a sudden, fierce intensity makes him heat up even more than whatever is in the ale.

“I suppose I wouldn’t mind the… attempt,” Jaskier squeaks out and the deep rumble that emanates from Geralt’s chest goes straight to Jaskier’s cock. Jaskier takes another large sip and feels it burn all the way down, signaling the serving girl to fill up their cups. “Two did you say?”

“Two’s enough,” she says with a wink.

Jaskier grins and drinks huge swallows and Geralt tips his glass back too, not to be outdrank by the bard.

“Maybe we should get your hair braided. I saw a booth. Your hair would be perfect for it,” Jaskier says, feeling quite tipsy already and leaning over the table to run his fingers through Geralt’s hair. It’s soft to the touch, silver and curling at the ends, a long time since either of them had had a proper washing. He’s feeling warmer by the second, Geralt’s skin unusually sweaty underneath his fingertips as he brushes up his neck and along his strong jawline.

“Jaskier,” he says in a warning tone that never fails to make his toes curl. “There’s something you should know about Witchers.”

“And what’s that, darling? That they are exceedingly handsome and quite capable in the sack?" He tries to separate Geralt’s hair into sections, clumsily crossing them and frowning as he can’t quite make it look how he wants.

“About _School of Wolf_ Witchers.”

Jaskier’s leaning even closer, practically laying on the table, suddenly mesmerized by Geralt's lips. They’re pink and soft and saying something. What is Geralt saying? Something about wolves.

“Right, yes, I know, you have those fangs. I love them dearly.”

“Of course you do,” Geralt says, and Jaskier’s sure that grumble is fondness blossoming out of his chest. They’re not really fangs, but his teeth are sharp enough to nip and sting and that’s quite enough for Jaskier.

“You have the most gorgeous teeth,” Jaskier says, and he is suddenly surging forward and grabbing at Geralt’s medallion, reeling him in for a sloppy kiss that’s all tongue and no finesse. Geralt doesn’t seem to mind though, hands hot and vice-like around Jaskier’s wrists, just like Jaskier likes and, _oh_ , this is going to be delightful.

He pulls Jaskier straight across the table and he falls heavily onto Geralt’s lap with a laugh. They’re squeezed against each other between the wall and the table, his knees bracketing Geralt's thick waist. It's too tight and Jaskier doesn’t care one lick as he grinds forward and feels Geralt already amazingly hard against him.

"We should… go somewhere more… private," Geralt says between deep kisses. Jaskier worries Geralt's bottom lip between his teeth and then releases it, loving the intense way Geralt's honeyed eyes are fixed on his face.

"You sure you don't want everyone to see you fuck me right on this table?" Jaskier whispers into his ear with hot breath, swirling his tongue inside the shell while Geralt gurgles beneath him. He swears he hasn't had this much fun just snogging someone since university, and he was never with anyone as commanding and utterly devastating and also as wonderfully dense as Geralt, and Jaskier congratulates himself on bagging such a winner.

Geralt shakes his head, the scruff of his afternoon beard rubbing against Jaskier’s cheek and burning deliciously.

"Mm, I know what you want."

“Oh yeah? What do I want?” Geralt teases.

“You want to breed me, puppy.”

From the way Geralt’s hands tighten on him, Jaskier knows he’s hit his mark.

“You. Bed. Now.”

“I love when you wax poetic, Geralt. Geralt! Wait!” Jaskier squeaks as he is lifted up despite his protests, Geralt wrapping Jaskier’s legs all the way around his waist and carrying him like he’s nothing.

“But we don’t have a room, Geralt!”

“Rrrrnngn, fuck,” Geralt says with emotion. Well, with anger, which incidentally is the only emotion he seems to have. That and incredibly horny, if that can count as one too, which in Jaskier’s opinion, yes, yes it does.

There’s people kissing desperately all around them, the noise of the festive musicians dim and faraway as Jaskier struggles to put two thoughts together into a sentence.

“I will not—” He fights to push Geralt’s hands up so they’re not right on his ass, as if that matters. “I will not _actually_ be made _love_ to—” He kisses Geralt deeply, sucking on his tongue and cutting off with a keen. “— in the middle of the street—” Another kiss. “— with people watching!” He latches back onto Geralt’s lips like he’s dying and trying to suck in his last breath from some incredibly hot and silver-haired god. Geralt stumbles, Jaskier blocking his vision of anything that’s not his face as they struggle across the cobblestone street and make it about two steps.

“Jas,” Geralt says, and that’s when Jaskier normally knows Geralt’s done for, because he _never_ says his pet names for him unless he’s very drunk or it’s very, very late at night and they are very alone.

“Fuck,” Jaskier says, stealing Geralt’s normal line. “Maybe I should’ve only had one.”

“Didn’t think you were a quitter,” Geralt says, the longer string of words making Jaskier realize how very attractive and manly his voice is. Is it gruffer than usual or is it just his incredibly large cock rubbing against him incessantly while they’re still clothed, good _gods_ why are they still clothed?

“Oh, thank the gods, there’s an inn!” Jaskier cries as he tries to climb down Geralt’s torso but then thinks better of it. He grasps onto him like he’s a monkey, thrilling as Geralt swings him over so he’s bearing his weight on one arm and then barrels inside past the heavy door.

They stand there for a moment blinking in the sudden darkness, their eyes adjusting. The innkeeper is an older woman with her arms crossed, the type of look on her face saying that she’s seen it all and it all is disgusting.

“How much?” Geralt asks, slapping down what is probably the entire contents of their purse and more than what Jaskier makes in an evening.

“Not enough,” she grumbles, but she pockets the coin and gives them a room key.

Geralt must nod at her and take the key but Jaskier can’t be bothered to notice, too busy trying to suck a bruise into Geralt’s neck.

“See yourself up,” she says curtly. “Mind the furniture. Anything you break doubles the charge for the night.”

Jaskier feels that he should look sheepish, but then Geralt switches him to a bridal carry and he’s crushed against his massive chest, delighting in the feeling of weightlessness as he slings his arms over Geralt’s broad shoulders. Jaskier can push his face into Geralt’s neck more fully this way and he breathes deeply, the scent of the purple flower still behind Geralt’s ear filling his nose and bringing back to life any pleasant memory he’s ever had. There’s picnics and the warmth of the sun and the first time Geralt kissed him and his playful jests and coming down Geralt’s throat and that one time Geralt smiled so beautifully Jaskier burst right into song.

“Please, Geralt.” Jaskier starts to groan, feeling like he’ll die if his clothes aren’t off and Geralt isn’t in him right this _instant_. He’s starting to get a little worried.

“I’m here, little lark,” Geralt purrs as he bangs up the stairs, ever so gracefully. They barge through the door to their room for the evening and it’s all Jaskier can do to not actually full out moan as Geralt sets him down and then immediately turns around to crowd him against the door.

“Fuck, Jaskier,” he says, grinding their hips together. “Fuck, right now, I need you right _now! _”__

The slight edge of panic to his voice has Jaskier scrambling to strip their clothes off and they stumble over to the bed, pants around their ankles and lips locked. Geralt tries to paw at Jaskier’s achingly hard cock but he slaps him away with a strangled, _no, no,_ thinking he’s going to pop off embarrassingly at any second, though he really doesn’t think he can be blamed in this very moment.

“Slick! Did you bring the slick?” Jaskier shouts, tumbling down to the bed and kicking his feet, nearly hitting Geralt in the face as he tries to help. “No, take off your own clothes, you idiot!”

Geralt frowns at him but pulls his pants off efficiently, his cock springing to life. It’s hard and beautiful, just as always, but the sight of the tip of it gleaming with precome in the dimness of the afternoon in this dingy room is magnificent, and makes Jaskier nearly cry as he spreads his legs.

“Gods, I don’t care anymore, just fucking get in me.”

Geralt scrambles on top of him and Jaskier yanks him down for a desperate kiss, feeling the flowers crush in his hands as he paws at Geralt’s face. And mercy of all mercies, Geralt found some oil from who knows where,— gods, they fuck enough that he might just keep some in those tight pants of his at all times— and he’s suddenly holding Jaskier’s legs apart and sinking in with two fingers immediately.

“Yessss,” Jaskier hisses, throwing his head back, and the momentary relief quickly dissappates as his body cries out for more, right the fuck now. “I mean, nooooo.”

“No?” Geralt says, apparently not far gone enough to squelch his ever present self-doubt.

“Yes, no, I mean, your cock. Get your cock in me!”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Geralt says, trying to shush Jaskier. He pets down Jaskier's stomach as he lines up, but his hand is shaky and it doesn’t instill a lot of confidence in Jaskier.

Jaskier reaches down to try and help him line up, sighing in absolute ridiculous pleasure as Geralt finally gets the tip in and starts to push. It’s just like always, exquisitely beautiful, except this time Jaskier feels like he’s seeing colors, like his skin’s on fire, like Geralt’s muscles and bulk and everything are just too much, and he can feel himself start to sob.

“Jas, Jaskier,” Geralt pants, and it takes forever but then he’s all the way seated in and Jaskier feels full, so full, like he’s stuffed to the brim, full all the way up to his throat. He hooks his ankles over Geralt’s back and kicks him a bit, starting to move his hips so Geralt will get with the program and start fucking him because he suddenly needs him to move with the burning flames of a thousand suns.

“I’m not a fucking horse,” Geralt growls, but he moves anyways, starting slow and pushing all the way in so he’s so deep inside Jaskier, making him groan full and throaty. Jaskier locks his fingers into Geralt’s hair and pulls him down by it, kissing him messily before letting go to pant because he can only focus on being filled up by that enormous cock.

The bed creaks ominously under them as Geralt starts to fuck into him with some effort now, and Jaskier hits him on the shoulder.

“We don’t have enough money to pay for that,” Jaskier complains, and Geralt fixes him with a look, his medallion swinging as they fuck and nearly hitting Jaskier in the face.

“Don’t think I—” Geralt cuts off to groan and lick at Jaskier’s collarbone before biting sharply and then laving at the red mark. “— can control that.”

“Ugh, that’s so hot.”

“Jas…” Geralt looks like he’s trying so hard to concentrate but they’re really bouncing now, and Jaskier’s feeling like he’s hurtling towards the most scary orgasm of his life. “Remember earlier— ”

Jaskier’s huffing out breaths each time Geralt slams into him, and he can barely remember his name at this point. “‘Fraid not, love.”

“When I said Witchers— ”

Jaskier frowns again, the thought sort of sparking… something. “Yeah?”

“Wolf. Wolf Witchers.”

“What, Geralt?” Jaskier says flatly, squealing as Geralt shoves him down and pulls out, only to flip him over onto his stomach and drive back into him with brutal force.

He’s back to pounding again, and this is nice, lovely really, Jaskier’s cock rubbing off onto the sheets and face nearly suffocating on the pillow.

“There’s this mutation.”

“Is now really the time to be telling me this?” Jaskier says into the pillow. It’s an effort to turn his head sideways so he can breathe, only to have it break into a gasp as Geralt catches that sensitive spot inside of him and then turns his hips to expertly drive into it again and again with fucking Witcher precision.

“It’s relevant.”

“You _are_ sterile, right? I’m not going to end this with a little baby wyvern egg, am I?”

“No.”

“Then what, oh my gods, Geralt!” Jaskier full out moans as he feels the pressure inside his ass just get even more intense.

“...It’s a knot.”

“You have a knot?!”

“Yes.”

“Shouldn’t you have told me this before you’re fucking _fucking_ me with your knot?”

“I was worried you wouldn’t like it.”

Jaskier closes his eyes and counts to ten. “Well of course I fucking like it, you idiot.”

And Geralt may be under the influence of some fertility drug, but he still makes that pained Geralt face that Jaskier actually loves even though he acts exasperated at all the time.

“I mean, what does it do?” Jaskier’s trying to crane his head around to see because he’s never been fucked with anything quite this huge before and this is a moment that should be remembered. Geralt’s holding him down too tightly though, his hips flush with his ass, so he gives up and goes back to just being dragged pleasantly across the sheets.

“Gets really big. Locks you to me. I just…” Geralt bows his head, resting it on Jaskier’s sweaty shoulder as he catches his breath.

Jaskier’s close, so fucking close to coming that it’s painful, and decides to just throw all his cards in.

“Well are you going to fuck me with it, puppy?” Jaskier says. “Knot me? Breed me?”

The mood shifts and Geralt growls, suddenly hunching his hips up more and pinning Jaskier down harder to the mattress. He goes from hard, driving thrusts to deeper little grinds, and Jaskier scrunches his eyes as he can feel the knot expanding in his ass. He’s so full, so fucking full.

“Gods, fuck, need your come, need your knot,” Jaskier chants. “Geralt, please Geralt.”

Geralt’s fingers are bruising now, one on his hip and one on Jaskier’s bicep, pinning him in place as he grinds down on Jaskier. And then he’s coming, Jaskier can actually feel it inside of him, hot and wet and dirty.

“Oh my gods,” he moans, trapped between Geralt’s knot and the bed. He tries to snake his hand under his body but it’s too tight, Geralt holding him too well, so he just has to take it, body so tremendously taut and shaking.

Geralt’s hips stutter into him again, still coming, and then he’s rolling them over so they’re on their side and he's jerking Jaskier off quickly. Jaskier’s so insanely turned on that he comes almost immediately, the clench of his body on Geralt’s knot so exquisitely painful, his sobs loud enough to reach the surly innkeeper below, and likely all the townspeople in the street, in fact.

He slumps against Geralt heavily, still incredibly full and sort of loving the dirty feeling of Geralt’s come locked inside of him.

“That was, well…”

“Nnnghnnn,” Geralt says into his shoulder, grinding further inward and making Jaskier’s eyes pop out a bit.

“I was going to say athletic,” Jaskier says a little shakily.

Geralt works his teeth into the red mark he’d nipped into Jaskier’s neck, making him arch his hips. The action tugs on the knot buried deep inside of him and Jaskier gives a small moan, a tendril of after-shock zipping across his skin though he thought he’d been quite wrung out.

“How long does this last?”

Geralt’s changed to licking at him now, broad strokes of his tongue that move up until he’s biting at Jaskier’s ear.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? It’s your body isn’t it?”

Geralt’s still laving at his skin, like some giant, pleased puppy. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

“Right well, we’ve been fucking for… what? Nearly two years, and I am just hearing of this, so you better fucking not have with anyone else.”

Geralt growls deeply right in his ear, and Jaskier’s stomach tightens with a thrill at his possessiveness. “Of course there’s only been you.” Then Geralt’s hands soften on his body, rubbing over his shoulder and arm and then wrapping around Jaskier’s soft belly.

“Part of my training involved control. Control in all aspects. I learned to control this, too.”

“Hot,” Jaskier says as he snuggles backwards. “So hot. Tell me about it?”

“Hmmm,” Geralt hmms, and Jaskier knows he won’t get anything else more out of him. He’s learned when not to push. Mostly.

They lay like that for a while, content, the fire under Jaskier’s skin seemingly abated for the moment. Geralt’s so solid behind him, his arm growing heavier, like he might be drifting off to sleep. His hands move downward, though, grasping lightly at Jaskier’s softened and messy cock, and that tiny movement shoots like lightning through his veins.

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, feeling his heartbeat growing faster.

“What?”

“The girl, the, the serving girl, what did she say about this ale?”

“I don’t know. That two was enough?”

“Yes, enough for how long?”

Jaskier’s cock is quickly filling again, like he hadn’t just been fucked within an inch of his life not three minutes ago. And though Geralt had been seeming to soften somewhat inside of him with whatever wolfy knot anatomy he had going on— and Jaskier didn’t mind that one bit, mind you — his actual erection wasn’t flagging.

“How many… how many times have you gone in the past? In a row?” Jaskier groans as Geralt pulls out of him, a mess of come following out and dripping down onto his thighs. He immediately feels bereft, twisting around in Geralt’s arms and getting as close as possible as he can to his chest.

“Fuck, I don’t know, Jaskier. That was different then.” Their wet cocks brush making Jaskier tilt his head back in pleasure and arch his hips closer.

“Well I think we’re about to make a new personal best.” Then he promptly rolls Geralt over and climbs on top of him, letting Geralt put his hands on his hips to guide Jaskier down onto his cock.

The fire in his veins is back immediately, his balls feeling heavy and slapping against Geralt with each drop of his hips. Geralt fucks up into him, meeting him halfway each time and his come from the last round makes the slide much easier this time, their bodies sweaty and sticky and overly hot.

It’s only a minute and then Jaskier’s picking up the pace and slamming down on Geralt, his own cock flopping against his belly and his head thrown back as he’s chanting loudly, “Yes, please, Geralt, Geralt!”

Geralt angles his hips, getting in deeper, always seeming to know how to make Jaskier sing, and the words just keep tumbling out of his mouth.

“Your cock is so gorgeous, I love it darling.”

“Yeah, you love my knot?”

“Yes, yes!”

“You want me to come in you?”

“Yes, please!”

“You want me to breed you? You want my puppies?”

“Gods, Geralt. Yes!” Jaskier’s thighs are burning, growing tired, and he falters a bit, only to have Geralt grab his hips and _move_ him up and down.

“Say it,” Geralt growls.

“Please, Geralt, I want your come! I want your puppies!” Jaskier yells to the world.

Geralt fucks him like he means it, fingers digging into Jaskier’s hips hard and then he’s slowing, grinding with a cut-off groan and eyes closed tightly.

“Oh!” Jaskier’s eyes fly open as he feels the knot expanding in him again. There’s the twinges of pain somewhere in the back of his mind; he’s too open, it’s too much, but the ale must be easing that somehow, because it’s barely a passing thought that leaps out the window as he starts to feel Geralt’s knot pulse.

Geralt lets out a strangled grunt as he comes and comes and it’s like a balm to Jaskier’s insides, like he was made for this, like he needs it. He yelps as Geralt rolls them over so he's on his back, entirely too coordinated in the midst of this heat, and then Jaskier feels like he’s going to light on fire again as Geralt hooks a hand behind each of his knees and pushes back, so his come drains down deeper into him as he grinds his hips downward.

“Geralt, I need to come,” Jaskier whines, desperately humping his hips and reaching for his cock, but Geralt slaps his hands away before returning to grasp behind Jaskier’s knee, practically bending him in two.

“You can wait ‘til I’m done breeding you,” Geralt says, voice rough and amber eyes half-lidded.

“Ugh, Geraalllt.” But Jaskier waits there obediently, feeling so dirty and full until he finally feels Geralt’s dick stop pulsing and the man’s giant paw-like hand reaches to grasp him loosely. Jaskier comes embarassingly quickly at just that, not sure he can even blame that on the ale, it’s just Geralt, just Geralt that always does it for him, always fucks him so good, always—

Geralt shuts up his internal monologue with a soft, whiskered kiss, rubbing his nose against Jaskier’s nose and smiling. “Such a good little bitch.”

Jaskier wants to narrow his eyes and tell him off, but he doesn’t, the word lodging into his stomach and making his cock twitch even though he just came a second time. Melitele, he’s actually going to die tonight.

“Yeah, did you breed me good?” he says, a little breathless. “Did it take?”

“Mmm, better make sure.” And Geralt rolls him over _again._

——

After the third time, Jaskier tries to make a break for the wash basin across the room, his belly and thighs just drenched with come and oil, legs shaking with exhaustion as he tries to put one foot after the other. Geralt growls at him from the bed and Jaskier spares a glance at him as he walks.

Geralt’s like a lion in the half-sunlight, hair mussed and gorgeous, eyes trained on Jaskier like a giant predator. He moves to rest on one forearm, body sleek and massive and cock still half-hard between his legs.

“How are you so beautiful?” Jaskier grumbles to himself, and embarrassment creeps over him as he feels Geralt’s sticky come slowly sliding out of him. He turns and takes the few steps to the dresser only to feel Geralt come up slowly behind him, his fully erect cock in the crease of Jaskier’s ass and hands running all over Jaskier’s front side.

“Geralt, I can’t—” Jaskier breaks off as Geralt rubs over one of his nipples, grazing it with the tip of his nail. “I can’t— “

His other hand slides down over Jaskier’s belly, fingers splaying over it.

“See, you’re already round with it,” Geralt says, breathing into Jaskier’s hair, scenting him. It must be sweaty and disgusting but Geralt purrs in pleasure and then pushes Jaskier forward so his hands are on the dresser, hips pushed out. He pulls him open and Jaskier feels more come slide out, knows he must just be dripping after the number of times Geralt’s pumped him full. He moans in embarrassment, glad he can put his face in his forearm as Geralt plays with his ass and fingers against him.

Geralt feeds the come back inside, plugging it there with two fingers, and Jaskier feels so raw, his hole so used and sore, like he’s made for Geralt, just for Geralt, just for his knot. And then Jaskier squeals out as Geralt’s fingers slip out and his lips are suddenly on him, right at his aching hole, trying to work the wet muscle of his tongue in as deep as he can. It’s so sloppy, so dirty, Jaskier’s cock insanely hard again and Geralt stops to push a finger inside, licking around it.

“Can’t get enough of your greedy hole,” he grunts against him, and Jaskier’s starting to get red in the face again as he feels Geralt’s teeth on him.

“Fuck.” Jaskier feels like he’s slowly losing his ability to speak and put more than two words together that aren’t expletives.

Then Geralt’s replacing his fingers with his dick, just pushing right inside, Jaskier too fucked out to even have any resistance left at all. He goes in right to the hilt, pushing Jaskier up on his toes, so full, so very very full.

“You were made for me,” Geralt whispers hotly against Jaskier’s neck, and this time when Jaskier comes it’s almost painful, cock nearly dry.

—--

“Geralt,” Jaskier squeaks, when he feels Geralt’s cock behind him again. “Geralt, I don’t know how long I can do this.”

“Your cock still seems interested.”

“It’s making a valiant effort to be, but I quite like my equipment. Don’t want it falling off from overuse.”

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier rolls over, his entire body groaning. “Maybe I can just... feel it a bit?”

Geralt brings his eyebrows together but lets Jaskier touch his cock delicately. He hisses as his knot immediately flares, and Jaskier’s eyes widen. He tries to wrap one hand around it but it’s too big to even cover it halfway, and he gulps, his ass clenching down on nothing. He leans down to lick it, feeling the spongy softness and loving the way Geralt’s expression turns to one of bliss.

“Don’t… don’t touch too much. Or it will be too big to go in,” Geralt says softly, and Jaskier drops his hands, watching Geralt gain control which is so hot in and of itself.

They roll to their sides, Geralt spooning behind Jaskier and sliding into him as gently as he’s able to, and even though Jaskier is so fucked out and raw, Geralt still has to push to get his half-formed knot to pop in. This time feels like it has to be the last, and if not, Jaskier will just tell Geralt he better find someone else to take his ridiculously sexy knot. And it burns, it burns so much when Geralt finally knots him again, the flare of heat from the magic fading into embers, Jaskier’s muscles everywhere trembling with effort. Geralt mouths at his shoulder languidly, lacing their hands together, trying to be gentle with his thrusts.

“So good to me,” Geralt says quietly, face scrunched up as his orgasm is wrenched from his body one more time.

Jaskier’s limp this time, body absolutely spent, a ragdoll to Geralt’s tired thrusting. He reaches back to card his hands through Geralt’s hair then drops his arm with a thud, the effort of moving practically overwhelming.

They both lay there like their limbs are made of lead, Geralt’s arm utterly heavy as he pins him down to the bed, but for long minutes Jaskier can’t even open his mouth to tell him to move.

Finally, he manages a fond, “My white wolf,” but Geralt is heavy with sleep behind him, mouth open on a soft snore. Jaskier smiles and snuggles backwards, feeling his body creaking with the movement. He won’t be able to ride for a week, but he’ll make Geralt make it up to him somehow. For now, sleep is quite enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Please come say hi on tumblr! I'm there as [badwolfbadwolf](http://badwolfbadwolf.tumblr.com)!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Under Pressure](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24084862) by [haleyesido (ssleif)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssleif/pseuds/haleyesido)




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